Illuminating the Dark
by thelittletree
Summary: Small sequel to another fic of mine called 'Into the Dark'. Tifa and Vincent pairing. Sometimes wanting and having can be the same thing.
1. Part One

Okay, first things first. Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or Cloud, or Nibelheim, or...well, you get the picture. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Second things next. This is based on another fic I wrote called 'Into the Dark'. Yup. How sad am I, writing fanfiction based on fanfiction.  
  
Illuminating the Dark -- Part One  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
***  
  
You know what surprised me in the end? That there was so little to say. We knew each other as children, we felt that pull before he left for Shinra, all we could've been and could still be. We were there saving the world, side by side. We loved each other at one time, knew the other's body like it was our own. We hurt each other, badly. And then, nothing to say. Nothing except the things you expect to have to say.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But I'll see you, okay? This isn't good-bye forever. I'll be around." Love you. "Bye, Cloud."  
  
I naively thought in the beginning that it still had a chance to work, that we would stay friends. We'd been so close, it wouldn't make sense that we would drift apart now. But I was wrong. I loved him, somewhere inside. But it still hurt, though I couldn't see that until it was too late to mend the tear; I kept putting off the trip to Kalm. Had to work, had to help Lily, had to relax, had to do this, do that, had to cry into my pillow and didn't want him to see that, did I? And I knew he wouldn't come to Nibelheim. We'd talked about it sometimes until it became obvious that we couldn't talk about it without fighting. Yes, I was spending time with Vincent. Yes, he slept on my couch occasionally. Yes, we played cards, drank a little, ate together around Lily's kitchen table. But we weren't together in the way we both thought mattered, the way that he would've had cause to be jealous about.  
  
No. No sex. Just cards, and drinks, and sleep, and talk. Cheap things, really, right? Just friends. Just all of the things that, somehow, had gone missing between Cloud and me.  
  
Cloud, my lover. Vincent, my boyfriend. That's kind of how I've come to see it. Though I can't really lie to myself, even if I lied to Cloud. Told him Vincent and I were strictly platonic, and we were, are. But there is a spark between us, something neither of us have acknowledged in months, and actually it's become a little like a blanket over us; something no one else really knows about, except for Lily. Keeps us warm at night to know that someone out there might say yes if we ever changed our minds.  
  
Keeps me warm at night sometimes because I dream. Never dreamed about a man before, not this way. Not even with Cloud. Vincent, so beautiful in my dreams when we're there together, wherever my unconscious mind puts us. Pale and dark, like the moon and the shadow, and his expression always the thing that puts me over the edge, the very emotion and desire there. So tantalizing because it could be true. If we ever ended up in that situation, I might see him like that: lips parted in gasps and sighs, eyes dusky russet in the dark, skin twitching in anticipation under my slow fingers. Oh, Vincent, if you knew... If only you knew...  
  
I'm taking classes in the evenings now. Weights and punching bags and cardio and self-defense. All of the basics, and it's slowly coming back to me. My appetite's returned and I have muscles again in all of the flattering places. Even Vincent's noticed, and I've struggled sometimes not to smile in blushing pleasure when his eyes have found those new developments. He denies it in every other way, but he can't deny the curiousity of his eyes. Does he dream of me? Does he sometimes find himself picturing me out of that sweater, those pants, with my hair down and my expressing wanting? I think he must, though I doubt he allows himself to find pleasure in those things. Only the torment of fear.  
  
Stubborn fool. But I have to laugh. I'm the one who wanted to come back to Nibelheim, and I'm the one who worked to make sure things were comfortable for us in the beginning so that we *could* talk and play cards and drink together. I put myself in this position in the end and I can't be mad at him for leaving me here. It was his choice long before I showed up, and I understand that fear far too well to fault him for being afraid.  
  
I'm not afraid of him, though. Not anymore. I'm simply and sweetly falling for him. A hard person to know, I thought once, but he's not all that complicated. Not once you understand about his past and you realize that he doesn't hate people. Just like others, he wants security and stability, a place to call home, and people who care about him. He may act like he hates it, but he wants Lily to keep cooking for him and teasing him and barging in and sewing up his shirts. And he wants me to keep playing cards and talking about my life and asking him slightly more and more invasive questions and letting him crash on my couch. That's what he wants, just to be normal somewhere to some people. I'm surprised, actually, that one of those people turned out to be me.  
  
I'm genuinely thankful that it turned out to be me.  
  
Cloud suggested quietly that maybe we should start seeing other people. And I nodded, if only because I was afraid what my voice would sound like. I told Vincent what had happened (God, I tell him almost everything now), and I wasn't crying, which almost surprised me. I was too interested in his reaction. A gentle flick of his dark eyebrows, though he didn't look up into my face, intent on his cards. As if he was afraid he might give something away, though that might've been me reading something into it.  
  
"And will you?"  
  
I was smoking a little that night. Not, I'd been telling myself, because I wanted to share his cigarette. "I don't know. There aren't a lot of people in Nibelheim, really. Who would I date?"  
  
"You see customers. And Lily might know some people." Still not looking up, adjusting his cards, and my heart had felt like it was beating in my throat.  
  
"But I don't know how to do this. I've never really 'dated'. I've always kind of fallen into relationships with friends."  
  
And I'd tingled somewhere when he'd glanced up at this, though his eyes were expertly unreadable. "I see."  
  
Not, 'Then you should find some more friends.' Not, 'You should be willing to try something new.' Just, 'I see.' Like he might've wanted to follow it up with, 'If that's the case, then perhaps your next relationship will be with me.' And, suddenly unable to concentrate on my cards, I'd had to excuse myself to the bathroom.  
  
Am I a fool to be falling for him? Yes, undoubtedly. But it feels so good to be around him. I love Lily and I love her company and sometimes it feels like I don't see enough of her. But I also love having Vincent to myself sometimes. Short, sweet, meaningful conversations a lot of the time. And his advice is always quiet and sound. He doesn't talk a lot, but when he does it's never frivolous or superfluous.  
  
Reminds me of something I read somewhere when I was younger. How did it go? 'She rarely spoke, but when she did her words were good and full of sense so that you longed to hear.' I wanted to be the girl in that quote, I remember. Now I'm simply happy to know someone who falls into that crowd of quiet, down-to-earth, intelligent people. Unfortunately, there aren't enough of them.  
  
There is one man, I guess, who I might not mind going out with. Tall and lean and smiling, he comes into the store to flirt with me. A few years older than me, maybe in his thirties, but still attractive and friendly. I don't know much about him, but maybe one of the reasons I've been hesitating (forgetting all of the other complicated reasons) is because he's come from a completely different world than me. He grew up in Junon, he tells me, and from the description of his house I can guess it was in the affluent side of town. Why he's in Nibelheim I haven't yet found out, but he certainly doesn't dress like everyone else. Sophisticated, I can't help thinking. Though he's nice and informal, and I'm sure he'd only laugh and put me at ease if he took me out to dinner and I spilled wine on the tablecloth or something.  
  
I doubt in the back of my mind, I know, that it would go anywhere, but I have to start *somewhere*, don't I? Maybe I'm not looking for a relationship, even. Maybe it's too early to start introducing the stress of meeting and evaluating strangers. But maybe I just want someone to flirt with me and kiss me and hold my hand and pull me onto his lap. Maybe I just want someone to want me and pursue me and make me feel like a living, breathing woman again.  
  
Maybe I'm just shallow. Maybe I'll end up hurting myself. But maybe I'll care later.  
  
***  
  
So. This is going to be a quick 2- or 3-parter, just to wrap up loose ends. From Tifa's POV this time, because it felt right that way. So...one or two more installments, at some point. Not today. I don't work, and I'm freezing, and I need more sleep. And I need to eat something and drink some tea and drowse on my couch in front of the TV. 


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or Cloud, or Nibelheim, or...well, you get the picture. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Illuminating the Dark -- Part Two  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
***  
  
I knew it wouldn't be hard to set up the date. Just to flirt a little in a particular direction. He's a smart, Junon-educated man, he knew where I was heading. He's been trying to herd me there for weeks.  
  
Tomorrow afternoon, coffee. A place not far from the store where they boast 'killer cappuccinos'. I don't work tomorrow, and he's introduced me to the idea of taking a couple of hours just to walk around Nibelheim's tiny downtown street, enjoy the sights, go to a park at the end of the road where there are benches and flowers and swings. I'll probably enjoy myself. He's already convinced me that he'll be good company.  
  
His name is Eike. I've never known anyone named Eike before. Maybe an inch or so taller than Vincent, curly brown-hair just this side of unruly, and with this smile that makes you feel like your sharing some mischievous secret with him. Good-looking, and he always seems to have his hands in his pockets. Sophisticated, I said before, like a grown-up playboy. I won't kid myself, I know I'm probably one of five or ten girls he flirts with on a regular basis. But maybe that doesn't matter. I can imagine his fingers sneaking around my waist as we walk, his palm a broad warmth on my shoulder, his lips a soft impression on my temple as he smells my hair.  
  
The first tentative steps toward intimacy, and he's probably done it a hundred times before. It might be nice to be with someone who knows the entire score. I can just let myself go along with it, be pursued by a virtuoso on the subject, forget about Vincent for one afternoon.  
  
Oh, Vincent. I wish I had some solid indication that you thought it might be possible. I would be there, I would work my damnedest to convince you if I knew it wouldn't scare you away. I don't want Eike. But I'll take him if he's what I can get right now. I'm so tired of wishing I knew what your hand felt like in mine, what it's like to kiss the hollow under your ear, beside your jaw, what it's like to fall asleep beside you in weary satisfaction, so very comfortable with being naked and warm against you.  
  
I only have my dreams.  
  
Vincent's gone again, hunting outside of Kalm. He calls it hunting; I can't help but think of it in terms of 'feeding'. I don't know what he'd think of that, if he calls it 'hunting' like using a euphemism. Well, maybe it is better than saying, 'I'm going out to let the four monsters inside of me glut themselves on blood so that they don't pop up suddenly and try to eat the two of you.' Hmh. This is the man I'm falling for. My father's probably rolling in his grave. Though it says something about him that Vincent's as well-adjusted as he is.  
  
I walk to Lily's after my shift. It's become a bit of a routine when Vincent's gone. I help her with supper, we put some of it in the freezer for him in lieu of his return, we eat, and then we talk, play cards, clean house, just hang around. She has a radio she picked up a week or two ago from a shop where it had been having its tubes replaced, and I don't think I've ever realized before how much fun it can be to dust a living room to the beat of a dance music station. Lily doesn't dance; she laughs at me and threatens to take a picture to show to Vincent. Not that I care very much about that. One day, I'm sure he'll walk in on me and raise an eyebrow. And I'll just tickle his ears with a feather duster, something Lily has already told me he absolutely abhors. And then he'll chase me around until he manages to get it away from me, and then, out of breath, we'll stand too close together and just kiss until I wake up.  
  
Lily's in her kitchen smoking a cigarette and drinking some tea, as is usual for her around this time. I lent her a box of a raspberry tea I picked up in Kalm a long time ago and never got around to finishing, and she seems to like it a lot, if what's in the pot right now is any indication. I pour myself a cup, add milk and probably too much sugar, and go to sit down across from her. She sighs a little, working at the dirt under one nail.  
  
"Well, he's gone."  
  
"Yep." I take a sip from my mug. "What's on the agenda tonight?"  
  
She shrugs and glances up at me. "Food. Cards. Sleep." She smiles as she takes a drag and breathes the smoke out between her lips. "You seem happy. Good day?"  
  
Do I? I return her shrug. "I have a date for tomorrow," I tell her. I don't really sound excited about it, I realize, but I guess that isn't a big surprise. Maybe she thinks I'm just being nonchalant because her eyebrows pop upward and she nods.  
  
"Good for you. Who is he?"  
  
"His name is Eike. Eike...something. Claviston, Clariston. Something like that, I don't really remember."  
  
"Claviston is that big house across town, on that hill," she reports, sounding interested so that I'm actually getting a little interested, too. "Rich folks. There's a Richard Claviston, and his son, Richard Jr. I don't know an Eike. How old is he?"  
  
"Oh, his thirties I think. Curly hair, dimples, sort of a flirt."  
  
"Well, I don't know the family. Just rumours. His son's supposed to be around that age, I think." She flicks some ash into the tray beside her and rubs a thumb against the corner of her mouth. "So, that's tomorrow? Evening?"  
  
"No, afternoon. I think supper dates have gone out of fashion."  
  
Lily chuckles a little and I smile. And then she's quiet for a few moments. I suddenly want to change the subject. She knows what's there between me and Vincent, and I think she's been kind of hoping that we'll end up getting together. Vincent, she's told me, is lonely. A very responsible, devoted kind of person, even if he has trouble expressing himself because he seems afraid to get close to people. She doesn't know, I've guessed, about Lucrecia. She said once that she could see in his eyes that he'd lost someone, but his was a complicated and horrifying kind of love affair. He has more right to be afraid, I have to concede, than I do.  
  
"So, what do you feel like eating? I've got some stuff over at my apartment for a recipe I found for chicken curry..."  
  
She sighs a little and shrugs again, and I know she's going to say something. She knows she shouldn't, but she's going to. "You know, Vince may never say anything, but he does feel something for you. If you're going to date, don't do it behind his back..."  
  
We've never argued about it before, though. But I know, and I don't want to hurt him either. "Lily, I know. It's all right. I'm not going to keep it from him if I do start dating regularly. But he must've expected that one day I might start looking for someone again."  
  
"Oh, he's a man, Tifa. And a damn stubborn one at that. He doesn't look at what's right in front of him until it's so obvious he can't ignore it anymore." She's a little angry, but I'm not sure if she's angry at me or at Vincent. Maybe the both of us.  
  
But I can't just wait for him forever without any idea if it will ever pay off. If I knew he was trying, or thinking about it, or anything, maybe. But as it is, I have no idea if he ever hopes for us to move beyond where we are. I'm inclined to think he likes things as they are now, but I can't stay here like this forever. I'm lonely, too, and more than just emotionally. I'm only human, and I'm only in my twenties.  
  
"Lily, I don't want to hurt him. I really don't. You know I..." Whoops, almost. A lot of preconceived notions about that word, and I'm still not sure which notion I fall into. "...care for him, too. But he doesn't want a relationship with me; not like that."  
  
"Well, maybe he just needs some time to get used to the idea." But she's not looking at me, and I know she knows the truth as well as I do. Vincent is the kind of person who hates to rock the boat. Even if it's obvious to everyone else that the boat is sinking. He's the kind of person who needs a push to get him moving in any new direction, and I'm not sure I'm patient enough just to push him and then wait to see if he catches on. I feel like a frayed thread sometimes, pulled in a lot of directions and unraveling a little more every day. I want him; he wants me. And one day it's either going to get out of hand and blow up in our faces, or I'm going to find someone else and we'll have to deal with that as it happens. There's no happy ending for us that I can see from here.  
  
And Lily's not an optimist. She's a realist. And I know she's sees the truth like I do.  
  
We're silent for a few minutes and I finish my tea. And then I can't leave it any longer. I reach over and pat her knuckles, smiling a little, though I know it looks a little sad. I can't help it. "Lily, I need to find someone else, or I'm going to get my heart broken. I think I'm falling in love with him."  
  
And something in her expression suddenly conveys everything words can't say. "Oh, shit, Tifa..."  
  
I smile again, almost a smirk. It's true, I think. Lily, you know the truth. You don't want me to get my heart broken. And, as responsible and devoted as he is, his fear is too great to take the risk with something that's been so recently broken before.  
  
She takes my hand and squeezes it. And doesn't say anything more about it. We have chicken curry for supper.  
  
***  
  
You know, I actually wasn't going to have Lily in this story at all. But she didn't want to be left out, evidently. So, four parts to this little sequel, maybe. Unless I want to make one long chapter next time. We'll see, I guess.  
  
Thanks for the reviews I got! I wasn't sure if anyone would notice this little thing at first. 'Into the Dark' does stand on its own, but it was unresolved. And, instead of leaving it to the imagination of the readers, I decided to make my own resolution. Yup. I'm terrible. 


	3. Part Three

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or Cloud, or Nibelheim, or...well, you get the picture. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Illuminating the Dark -- Part Three  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
***  
  
His name is Richard. Richard Jr., actually, but everyone calls him Eike. It makes for less confusion around the dinner table, he jokes as he sweeps my fingers up to his lips in a gesture so fluid and natural it feels like I was expecting it. And then he holds my hand. A simple, subtle tactic, and I'll admit that I'm impressed. And gratified. He will pursue me with all of the charm and grace of the cultured masses, and maybe I won't even remember that he's a complete stranger.  
  
He buys me a drooping straw hat, even though the sky is cloudy and the forecast is predicting rain, and entertains me with exaggeratedly thoughtful expressions as he adjusts it on my head. An excuse to touch the skin of my neck, I think, as he deftly makes a bow out of the ribbon under my chin. We share a drink like old friends or new lovers and find the park without the help of the sunshine. I haven't been here before, but I think I would've stood out as a single woman in a green, flowery world of couples. I'm glad now that Eike is holding my hand. I belong here in this social universe again. I am a young woman, carefree as if my greatest problems have never been more complicated than deciding what lusty suitor to go out with or what make-up flatters my skin.  
  
I can laugh and pretend this is the real me. It feels good. Nothing here reminds me of the past, even if this is Nibelheim, and I can almost believe I might be able to forget forever.  
  
I tell him light-hearted stories about my childhood, but I don't tell him I grew up here before the fire. I tell him vague stories about my friends, but don't say anything about Avalanche. I describe my father, but I don't tell him that my parents are dead and I'm the only Lockhart of my line left. And then I turn his questions around on him, and he's only too pleased to court me with witty conversation about his father the business-man, his stuffy childhood in Junon, and his experiences with a Cosmo Canyon education. Even when he talks about the time during Meteor, he describes it like painting flames with pastel colours. A joke about how one of the maids closed all of the curtains so that no one would see the terrifying doom in the sky; a quip about an underground shelter his father had constructed under the house; an anecdote about the number of religious tracts they got in the mail or stuffed into the cracks of the front door.  
  
And I can see he wants to keep me smiling, though it's hard to tell if the rose-coloured picture he's created for me is just for my benefit. Could he really have come through the near-tragedy with so much humour and hope?  
  
It starts to rain; a swift, warm weather swell that catches everyone off-guard. We run for the shelter of a tree amid the startled laughter of the rest of the park. And then, smiling and catching our breath and trying to shake the water out of our eyes, we kiss. As informal as his conversation, soft and careful and permissive. Not the first young, hungry kisses of Cloud; not the heated, gasping uncertainty of Vincent's kiss, somewhere between urgency and desperate control. A kiss that doesn't pretend to be anything else; he likes me, wants to kiss me, so he does and I can pull away or press into him, walk away or continue as half of a pair of people who are simply enjoying themselves.  
  
I'm happy to see that he's grinning, too, when we withdraw. He's not asking for anything, and I imagine he falls in love a couple of times a week. Maybe I would see him again. I'm positive now that it won't go anywhere beyond informal, because if it does I'm sure he'll disappear. But maybe I want informal for now. My heart is an overworked muscle, and all I feel I need is the simple comfort of a hand, a mouth, a glint in the eye of someone who means nothing to me.  
  
Just until I've stopped wishing I had Vincent's hand, mouth, the glint in his eye; until I've stopped looking forward to the evenings where it's just him and me playing poker and he smirks and raises an eyebrow when I ask him what his first impressions of Nibelheim were, or what Shinra was like in the beginning, or if he remembers his parents.  
  
Oh Vincent, you know better than anyone what hell unrequited love is, and you wouldn't wish it on me, would you? I wish you would let me in.  
  
The rain doesn't last long, and then Eike walks me back to Lily's at my request. I'm not completely sure I want him to know where I live yet, I admit, and I already know Lily is going to want a fully-detailed report of my afternoon. We slow at the step and I turn to him, unable to keep the smile off of my face. He is good-looking, and his mood is so contagious. I really can't help hoping that he doesn't find out who I am, what I've been through, for a long time.  
  
"I had a lot of fun, Eike," I tell him, the perfunctory words of the first date. "Thank you for the hat, and the park."  
  
"Even if it rained?" He flicks the hat affectionately so he can see my face better.  
  
"Especially because it rained. Rain is romantic."  
  
He grins and sweeps a thumb under my chin, over the bow. "I'm glad you had fun. Maybe we should do this again."  
  
"Definitely."  
  
He doesn't ask with words, he just leans forward and lets me move into the kiss. Perhaps it is forgivable that I'm not thinking about his lips this time, already in Lily's kitchen in my mind and trying to choose the words I'll use to tell her about my date. And perhaps it is forgivable that I'm not thinking that this kiss, this pleasant, meaningless little kiss, might have any repercussions.  
  
Perhaps it is forgivable. But I'm not sure I can forgive my own stupidity at assuming anything when Lily's door opens suddenly and Vincent nearly collides with the two of us.  
  
He has just come back from the hunt, I'm positive, still dressed in his long coat and hiking boots, his hair tied back and hidden under his collar. But I can only acknowledge this peripherally; at this moment I'm sure nothing in the world could take my horrified gaze from his face. The momentary flash of rigid shock in his eyes, the slight tightening of the lines around his mouth, between his eyebrows -- things anyone else might take for simple surprise. But I know now that any expression Vincent gives is always just a fraction of what roils beneath the surface. A smirk is a laugh, a brief frown is an exclamation of anger, a scowl is a frustrated curse.  
  
A shocked wince is a gasp of pain.  
  
With the spark between us, with the unspoken line we've drawn down the middle of our friendship, there has come a kind a trust. Careful of the attraction, careful with the knowledge that we are both recovering. A trust I have not only broken without justification, but have broken right in front of him. No claim to each other, but we know what is there.  
  
Oh God, Lily, you were right. I should have explained first.  
  
Vincent, I'm sorry, let me explain...  
  
Like the stereotype of a man who has grown up in the self-involved atmosphere of a wealthy family, Eike seems impervious to the sudden suffocating tension in the air and he pulls away from me with a broad smile to hold out a hand to Vincent. "Hi, Eike Claviston."  
  
Vincent glances at Eike for a moment and then drops his eyes, and his expression is no longer anything but unreadable. He pushes past us with a barely mumbled, "Excuse me." Eike, I notice, gives an odd smile as if he isn't sure whether or not to be offended by the brush-off, and then he looks at me with a small scoff of breath as if to say, 'What's his problem?'  
  
I don't want to explain. I don't want Eike to be here anymore. I don't ever want to see him again. I smile and shrug and tell him I'll talk to him later. I accept his renewed grin and the departing kiss on my fingers, and then I go inside and try not to throw up on Lily's kitchen floor.  
  
Lily is folding her laundry in the cold, cement basement. I step up beside her without a word and start to help her. I hope she doesn't notice how my hands are trembling.  
  
I'm surprised at how automatically the details of the afternoon come out of my mouth when Lily asks, while my mind is actually upstairs with Vincent, wondering if and how I might be able to fix this. He's going to be angry, and he's going to be hurt, and he's going to pretend that he's not feeling anything. And I'm not sure what I'll do if he wants to walk away and ignore me. Shout? Accuse him of jealousy? Just let him go?  
  
Maybe appeal to the part of him that has enjoyed our friendship so far...?  
  
"Tifa. Tifa. Stop a sec."  
  
I interrupt myself to realize that Lily has probably been trying to get my attention for several moments. "What is it?"  
  
Lily shakes her head a little and raises an eyebrow, halfway through folding a faded blue towel I recognize from her bathroom. "You're telling me about this date like someone forced you to go. What's wrong? What happened?"  
  
Of course she would know something is wrong. She always knows. I finger the pocket of a purple sweater she once let me wear, unable to admit my shame to her face. "Vincent was coming out the door when Eike was dropping me off. He saw us kissing."  
  
Lily, I notice, opens her mouth a little as if she wants to say something, but then she turns back to the towel, deftly flipping it forward until it's a tidy rectangle. And she sighs a little as she puts it down on top of her growing pile of clean laundry, smoothing out a wrinkle I can't see. "And what'd you say to him?"  
  
"Nothing. What was I supposed to say? Eike was standing right there." I shouldn't be trying to justify it, as if it somehow isn't my fault. If I'm truthful with myself, I have to admit that it wasn't really because Eike was standing there that I didn't say anything. I'm bad with confrontations and sometimes I'll put them off as long as possible. Even if it was my procrastinating that helped to ruin things with Cloud. I get so damn afraid of being hurt, and that only risks more pain...  
  
I'm almost surprised when Lily doesn't get angry. She just plucks a pair of loose yellow jogging pants out of the dryer and starts to shake them free of static. "Well, maybe it's better to give him a little time. Right about one thing, he needs to realize that you're not settled like he is, like I am. You've still got a lot of life in you, and he can't expect things to stay the way he wants, just because he wants them to. You want to find love, to have a family; good things to want. And he's got to let you."  
  
I wish her words were making me feel better, but they aren't. I don't feel right about anything at all. I don't want Eike; I want Vincent. I don't want an extravagant life and a family and big house and lots of money; I want Vincent, and I want to live quietly for awhile and just be happy. "I still have to talk to him."  
  
"Well, yeah, I hope you still do." She gives me a lopsided smile and gently squeezes my arm. "But maybe give him a little time. You can prob'ly talk to him tonight when he walks you home."  
  
That will be after supper, and our usual card games. "What if he doesn't want to walk me home?" I say it with a sort of chuckle, though the thought is anything but funny.  
  
Lily turns back to the pants she's holding and starts to fold them. "I wouldn't worry about that, Tifa." She's smiling a little. "His protective streak'll win out over the stubborn part of him that wants to be angry."  
  
And I know she's right. Once you know what motivates him, Vincent is actually pretty predictable.  
  
Though I'm still a little surprised when he actually comes down into Lily's kitchen to eat with us as if nothing's changed. He doesn't speak to us, though. And it is a very quiet poker night. Just the clink of the gil in the pot, the sound of Lily cursing occasionally to herself, and the rustle of me squirming uncomfortably in my chair. Somewhere around seven o'clock, Vincent folds (I have never seen him fold) and gets up from the table, saying something about going to bed. I feel like I should object, but I keep my mouth shut. Okay, Vincent, okay. I know. And I'll probably just spend the night on Lily's couch.  
  
But Lily, bless her heart, has never been one to keep her mouth shut. "Will you walk Tifa home first, Vince?"  
  
He turns back to the table and I see his version of a frown flash briefly over his face as he stares at Lily. But she only looks back at him innocently with her eyebrows raised. Though I doubt she's fooling him; she always knows what she's doing. And after a moment, he drops his eyes with a sigh. "Of course."  
  
It's raining again. Lily has lent me her umbrella. I want to offer it to Vincent, so that he can carry it over the both of us so we both stay dry, but I already know he won't take it. He's walking along the street, a foot or so from the curb, and about three feet from me. Just close enough to still be considered walking 'with' me, and just far enough away to dissuade me from talking. And he won't voluntarily come any closer. Damn him. But it's my fault, I remind myself. I wish I knew how to start.  
  
It was raining, too, the first time it came to me that I might be falling in love with him. Do you remember, Vincent? You offered to accompany me, to help me carry my groceries. The first big load of food in my apartment, and I was so relieved to have the help. And when we were leaving the store, you saw that it was raining and you bought a paper. I didn't understand why until you held it out for me to take, holding out your other hand for some of the bags I was carrying. 'Over your head,' you explained. And I hesitated.  
  
Not like Cloud. Cloud wouldn't have offered, he would have just done, and then because he'd just assumed I needed the help I would've gotten upset. And then *he* would've gotten upset and it would've been a big deal. With you, Vincent, if I'd said no, and meant it, you wouldn't have gotten angry. You would've simply accepted it and we would've walked home. No hard feelings.  
  
The rain was dripping off your nose, the ends of your hair, trembling on your eyelashes. And you have such nice, long eyelashes, I'd never noticed before.  
  
We arrive at the door to my building, and I still haven't said a thing. I pull out my keys with unsteady fingers and try to find the right one for the door. I sense it when Vincent turns to walk away, having safely delivered me home.  
  
And I know this is my last chance. After this, it will be even harder to talk to him. I take a breath and gather the scattered wisps of my courage.  
  
Maybe I can't fight for your love, Vincent, but I can fight for your friendship. I don't think I could stand it if we parted this way. And, truthfully, I don't think you could either.  
  
"Wait, Vincent."  
  
I don't turn, and I can't tell if he's stopped.  
  
"We need to talk." I swallow the lump in my throat that is threatening to make my voice crack. "But let's get out of this rain."  
  
I risk a glance over my shoulder. He's there, standing a few feet away with his back to me, staring out into the night.  
  
"Come upstairs with me, Vincent. Just for a few minutes." Please, I want to add. Please, if our friendship has meant anything to you, please come upstairs. I need to explain, and apologize; maybe we can still salvage this.  
  
I'm half expecting him just to start walking away. He's angry at me, and I'm sure it would serve me right to have him ignore me for the rest of my life. But things will never be comfortable again if he does that, and he must know it. I can practically feel everything teetering on the edge of the chasm that has suddenly cropped up between us.  
  
The terrible waiting seems to last for hours before he finally turns around to me, and I nearly breath a sigh of relief. Though as he gets closer I realize he isn't looking at me.  
  
But that doesn't matter, I tell myself as I unlock the door and slip inside, holding it open for him as I struggle to close the umbrella. He's willing to listen, and despite how resentfully stubborn he can be sometimes, he is a reasonable man. We can come to an understanding, I know we can.  
  
At least, I hope I know we can.  
  
***  
  
One more part left. Yup. Now I have to eat breakfast and go to work. Thanks for reviews! 


	4. Part Four

Disclaimer: Don't own Final Fantasy VII, or Vincent, or Tifa, or Cloud, or Nibelheim, or...well, you get the picture. Just inserting them into the machine of my imagination and watching what pops out.  
  
Illuminating the Dark -- Part Four  
  
by: thelittletree  
  
***  
  
It's strange, how unfamiliar a place you've lived in for months can suddenly feel. This is my kitchen, I know where the light switch is. There is the opening to my living room; dark now, but not normally unwelcoming. My bedroom is down the compact hallway that I can't see from here, but I know every footstep and expect that I would instinctively move to avoid the creaking floorboard that's on the way.  
  
Only one thing is out of place. Only one thing, in a veritable ocean of memories associated with the ease of smiles and tea and food and conversation:  
  
Vincent is standing in my kitchen instead of sitting at the table; his posture is rigid where my apartment has only ever seen it lax and casual in a chair; he is radiating a kind of hostility, like a porcupine under threat, and I feel like any words I say will be taken as intruders into the silence he has erected like a fence.  
  
This Vincent -- this old wall, this mask, this...painfully familiar stranger -- is the only difference. And yet, it makes all the difference. He's forgotten how to trust me. And I've forgotten how to talk to him.  
  
I can't help wishing now that we had some previous experience with being honest with each other this way, with things as complicated as feelings. Then I might have more confidence in saying what I know has to be said. But, for the sake of comfort, we've so far just gone along our normal routines. We've ignored the obvious, we haven't admitted to anything. We've just let is grow into what it is now: a big, fat mess of quiet deceit that we didn't mean to hurt anybody with. And, instead of dealing with it in a way we might both have been all right with, I've blown it wide open with a kiss he has probably taken for the real thing. And he's not going to acknowledge that he is jealous; he's not going to make himself vulnerable to me, a person he now knows he can't continue carefully investing his feelings in. He's probably going to deny everything and just leave me to my own thing and unobtrusively take himself away until he is obliviously comfortable again.  
  
Stubborn, self-deluded fool. It only hurts us in the end, doesn't it, Vincent? But you won't admit that, either.  
  
I slip out of my shoes and put the umbrella down, feeling sort of self-conscious though I can practically taste his disregard. And then I move to the sink and pull the kettle from a stove burner. My hand is still shaking as I turn on the water. I have to concentrate to make sure I heat the right element.  
  
This has to start somewhere. But I can't be honest with a wall, with that heavy smothered anger, with that part of him I recognize even without the cloak and bandana. I need to be reminded of the chinks in his armour. I need...I need to remember Lily...  
  
I sigh and I want to push away from the sink and face him. But I can't yet. Just give it a second, Tifa, I tell myself. Lily would tell me to give it a second, I'm sure. She always has such a good sense of timing.  
  
"Vincent, will you sit down?" My voice is a little unsteady, but I'm proud of my tone. I sound resolute. "I can't talk to you when you're standing there like that. So...just sit down, or leave."  
  
He doesn't move, but neither do I. I can be stubborn, too, if I have to be. No matter how fluttery my insides are. I used to be so afraid of giving Cloud ultimatums; I don't think I ever trusted him that far. It was always so damn easy for him to walk away. But Vincent hasn't walked away yet, even when he could've avoided all of this by leaving me in Kalm. Very responsible and devoted, and it's a strange mixture with the rest of his personality. Well, the stoic part of his personality, at least. I've already seen how close to home he likes to keep those things that become important to him, as if he's afraid they'll all be suddenly taken away.  
  
However, I still feel that sigh of relief somewhere between my lungs and my mouth when he finally takes a slow step from where he was probably all but rooted to the linoleum. Thank you, Vincent. You know as well as I do that this isn't going to be easy, or tidy. But I'm glad you're willing. I'm glad...  
  
Oh, I'm glad I'm this important to you, at least.  
  
He lowers himself into his usual chair without a sound, and after a moment even makes himself a little comfortable. I almost expect him to slip a hand into a pocket for his cigarettes. I let a breath out quietly through my nose and open the cupboard above me. "Do you want some tea?"  
  
He doesn't reply right away, and I know at this point Cloud would be getting angry and demanding that I just get on with what I have to say. But one of the chief reasons I think I like Vincent is because he isn't Cloud.  
  
"No."  
  
I pull down one mug and rummage through my tea drawer for something with chamomile in it. And then I admit to myself that I can't stall anymore. Any longer and I'll lose my nerve. I turn around, and then let myself lean back against the counter so that I'm not standing stiffly with my arms at my sides. Let's pretend we've done this before, Vincent. Let's pretend this isn't our first argument and we both know how it's going to turn out. Let's both pray I have the presence of mind to start this the right way.  
  
Oh, Vincent...why in the world do you suddenly look so exposed over there, staring at the table-top like it might hurt you to look me in the eye? I can't watch you when you look like that. Please, let's both be strong enough to admit the truth.  
  
"That...that was Eike Claviston." Is it a bad way to start, naming the other man? I don't know. Is this like starting in the middle of a conversation? But maybe we're already deep in the middle. "But, I want to explain about him..."  
  
"You don't have to."  
  
But I do! I know you don't want to hear any of this, Vincent. But, please, be brave and face this with me. Don't interrupt...  
  
"He's...he's not anything to me. It was just a first date. I...I..." What? I'm checking out the market on eligible men? "I was just a little lonely." God, this is coming out wrong. Vincent, I'm sorry.  
  
He's still not looking at me, and I almost wish he was fidgeting. But Vincent never fidgets. "Tifa, you don't have to explain it to me." He doesn't sound angry, or even resigned. His tone almost lacks any inflection at all. "You don't need my permission to see people. You've already said you were thinking of dating others. It doesn't bother me what you do."  
  
But that's not what your expression said when you saw me kissing him, I can't help but want to say. It does bother you, more than you want to admit. I wish you would just be honest with yourself. I wish I had the guts just to come out and call your bluff. "Vincent, you've just spent the evening ignoring me." There, that's a little more on track, though I know there is an uncomfortable blush climbing the back of my neck. "You weren't even going to walk me home. What can I blame that on, if not the fact that..." Say it, say it! "...that you saw me kissing another man?"  
  
I can't help but glance up to see his reaction, and he does look a little stunned as if he didn't expect me to be so blunt. But the break in composure doesn't last long.  
  
"You're mistaken, Tifa. Nothing has changed. You're implying jealousy where there isn't any."  
  
I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but he's making me angry. I don't want to turn this into a shouting match. I just want us to talk. "Then you wouldn't have a problem if I continued seeing him?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"If I kissed him routinely on Lily's doorstep?" I'm a little surprised by the part of me that suddenly wants to hurt him. But I'm a little too angry to care right now. If he wants to do this the hard way...  
  
"You can do what you like." I can hear it, Vincent, the edge to your voice. You can pretend to be unfeeling, but I know better.  
  
And I'll bet it's not so hard to break through that composure you want to make others believe is unbreakable. "If I fucked him on a regular basis right here on my kitchen tabl..."  
  
"Tifa!"  
  
I can tell that both of us are startled by his outburst. For a moment he's staring at me as if he can't quite believe that he was the one who shouted my name. And then, before I can recover enough to say anything, he stands from the chair and starts toward my apartment door.  
  
It's not a surprise, maybe, that his first impulse is to get away from me. But he can't leave now. This is when he runs off and holes himself away in his apartment. But letting him go at this point will be worse than if I hadn't said anything in the rain. Because he has all but admitted it, and he knows it as well as I do. It's almost a reflex when I push myself away from the counter and grab onto the upper part of his left arm.  
  
Tight muscles, thin bone-structure, but as strong as wire cables. The same thing that has kept us from facing this has so far kept an unspoken agreement between us that we don't touch each other. I have broken so many rules today I can't help but believe we will need to create a whole new system of them. Instinctively trying to hold him back, and, not the weak girl I was before, I'm actually having a measure of success for a second. But then he's twisting away and I'm forced to switch tactics or give up. With a grunt, I give one last pull on his arm and then slip in front of him to keep him from getting to the door.  
  
"Vincent..."  
  
He glares at me as he is forced to a stop, and for a moment I can almost believe that he might simply push me out of the way. Not just anger, but that wary unease in his eyes, uncomfortable with what I can make him feel and afraid of what I might do.  
  
"Vincent, wait. We need to talk!"  
  
But I don't know how to get him to listen now, how to make him want to stay long enough to hear me out. I don't want Eike; I want him, and barring that I want his friendship. I might try to find love again, a boyfriend, someone to hold my hand, but I don't want to lose him because of that. I want the both of us to be happy. God, if he would just listen, maybe I could make him understand...  
  
If he would just acknowledge the fact that we're attracted to each other and just agree to work from there...  
  
But maybe...maybe I'm going about this the wrong way. Scared to death to take the risk, and afraid that he will just see it as another breach of trust. Filled with nervous anticipation about what it might mean or lead to.  
  
Vincent...  
  
He's wearing one of his loose black button-ups under his coat, and I can feel the heat of his skin through it. Running my hands around him and then pulling closer until I'm holding him, and there are a hundred thousands pleasant little chills shivering over me at the feel of being pressed up against him like this -- hard, lithe body, sharp hipbones -- and he realizes too late what I'm doing. Stiffens in my arms and automatically tries to back away, his expression changing. Wary fear, and anger...and something else in his eyes, now dominated by dark dilated pupils.  
  
"This is what we need to talk about," I tell him, unable to disguise the tremor of tension in my voice. "This attraction we feel. It isn't wrong. Vincent, listen to me!"  
  
He's pulling out of my embrace, levering my arms away with his elbows, and I can't hold on anymore. But I've made my point.  
  
And if he wants to leave now, I'll let him. So far lost in the false comfort of denial that I don't know what else to do to try and reach him. Vincent, why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?  
  
His breathing is a little heavy and he isn't looking at me as he takes the first few steps away, further into the hall. I drop my eyes, feeling ashamed of myself; but even more than that, feeling disappointed in him. Obviously I've misjudged my worth. It's good to know when to fight, when to stand up for something, or to someone. But it's also good to know when to give up. Zangan, where did you learn all of these lessons? I never asked you or, really, ever thanked you. If I ever become someone to be proud of, it will be because of you.  
  
I can feel the seconds stretching, and then I know I've been waiting too long. Vincent...isn't pushing me out of his way, isn't running away, isn't trying to leave. I want to glance up to find out what the delay is, but I'm afraid to look and see that it isn't what I hope it is...that it isn't because he's willing to listen.  
  
But he's there, leaning against the wall a little, slumped on his left shoulder. Still not looking at me, but his expression isn't the mask anymore. Staring at the baseboard heater, and after a moment he sighs, and I can't help but think it is for my benefit, to show me that he is resigning himself. I put a hand to the doorjamb and think about taking a step toward him, but then I mentally take the gesture back.  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
He closes his eyes and I catch the movement at his throat as he swallows.  
  
I lick my lips, trying to sort out the direction of my words. "I'm sorry I did that. Maybe it was a little over-the-top. But I just wanted to make you listen." The kettle is suddenly whistling in the kitchen, but I force myself to ignore it. "We're attracted to each other, we both know it, but..." It's my turn to swallow uncomfortably. I've always hated confrontations and confessions. "...but you need to know that in the last month...I've started wanting it to become more than that between us." My voice is shaking and I have to force myself to loosen my grip when I realize how hard I'm holding onto the jamb, enough to whiten my fingers. "But I knew, too, that if I tried to change things between us, you would..." God, I can feel the tears there, a pressure behind my cheekbones. My throat feels thick, and I have to swallow again. "...you would get afraid, and run away from me. So, I was deciding that I would take Cloud's advice and start dating other people, so that we could keep our friendship the way it is. But I was going to explain it to you first, so it wouldn't be uncomfortable..." I blink back the moisture that wants to start escaping down my cheeks.  
  
Vincent hasn't moved, but he seems to be listening. I just need to get this said.  
  
And then, Vincent, please say something...  
  
"I'm sorry if I hurt you." My voice is cracking, and the first tear makes its inevitable appearance. "I didn't mean for you to find out that way. But..." I wipe at the dewdrop impatiently, angry now for crying; I don't want to seem the weak little girl, and I don't want to make him more uneasy. "...but, I want somebody. And if it can't be you..." God, stop crying, Tifa! Take a breath, calm down. "Oh God, I want things to stay the way they are between us, too, but I don't know if they can anymore. If it can't be you, I think it's going to have to be somebody else. Do you understand?" I make myself wait too long for his answer before continuing, as if I hope to make him realize that I'm trying to be patient and give him his space to answer. "Please, say something."  
  
"The water's boiling."  
  
I feel a wash of helpless anger. Why does he want to make this harder? "I don't care about the damn water!"  
  
"Then what do you want me to say, Tifa?" His voice is quiet and firm, and he's suddenly looking at me out of the corner of his eye. And I've thought it before: this is the real Vincent. This is Lily's Vincent. This is the honest Vincent who always knows more than he lets on. "That I don't want you to date other people? That I want things to stay as they are? That I want..." And then that fear seems to seep back into his eyes, as if he's suddenly aware of what he's saying. He glances away from me, back to the base heater against the wall. "You can do what you like. You don't have to explain your reasons to me."  
  
"But..." Why isn't he understanding? "...but I don't want to lose your friendship!"  
  
He looks at me again, and I almost want to take a step back from the hard glare in his eyes. "Sometimes..." A harsh whisper, more emotion than I've ever heard him use before. "...we can't have everything we want."  
  
It stings, like he might've hit me, and I can't hold back the tears any longer. There will be no understanding. He's hurting, and he's bitter, and he's angry. And maybe, really, I was asking too much of him. To stand by and watch while I go out with other men, because he doesn't feel he can ever be that man for me, or for anyone? We're both selfish, and we both don't want to be hurt anymore. And he's going to make me choose. Choose between him, when I know I can't have him, and leaving him behind for a relationship with a lover.  
  
But, really, is it a choice at all? I take a breath, though I can't look up to meet his eyes. "Then...I choose you, Vincent." I can almost feel it when he glances at me. I swallow the lump that is growing in my throat yet again. "I'd rather have your friendship, and be...alone the other way, than lose what we have together." God, Vincent, I love you. There's no question now. I love you, and it's breaking my heart. And I know I should let you go. But...when did I ever learn to let go at the right time?  
  
"Tifa..." His voice still sounds harsh, angry, as if he suspects I'm just trying to one-up him. "...I'm not asking you to give up anything for me."  
  
This time I look at him, but he's not trying to meet my eyes. My jaw feels tight, and it seems to take a lot of effort to open my mouth. "Why shouldn't I?" And I take a breath, know there are new tears in my eyes, feel the growing knot in my stomach. "I love you." And I can't help but bite my lip after this until I'm tasting blood on my tongue, as if some part of me unconsciously wants to inflict some punishment for the confession.  
  
He closes his eyes and starts to shake his head, and then he stands from the wall, both of his hands fisted at his sides. His expression is so like a scowl, but I admit that I have no idea what's going through his mind. And, feeling light-headed and so nervous my teeth are chattering, I give in to my instincts on this one. And step up in front of him.  
  
His hair is still damp from the rain and in a ponytail, but...those silly strands, never long enough to be pulled back, and too fly-away sometimes to stay put behind his ears. I lift cold fingers I know are trembling and sweep that hair gently out of his face, like I've been tempted to do so many times before. "Is it..." I swallow. "Is it so hard to believe?"  
  
Never been here before. Never come this far. Even with Cloud, I never managed to be honest enough with him to bring us to this place. And I'm so afraid not to know what happens next. But almost surprised when Vincent opens his eyes. Only the third time I've ever been close enough to spot the brown flecks in his irises. And there is no wall there -- no bitterness, no anger -- but there is fear. Fear, and a kind of weary, defenseless honesty, as if he might be so tired of pretending, as if he really does wish this could all be made right. "Tifa, there is a part of me that wants it." No more than a whisper. And I know, I *know* as well as I know anything, that he isn't finished speaking.  
  
But I can pretend to misunderstand. Get up on my toes and brush his mouth with my lips, not quite a kiss. And it makes me shiver, makes his eyelids flutter, and I want more. "Then take it." I do it again, but this time I linger for a second until I feel his unsteady breath against my face. He's closed his eyes tightly, his hands are still fisted, I see a tell-tale tremor in his shoulders, the twitch of his self-control against me. But he's not running away. Yes, a part of you wants this, Vincent. And I'm not Lucrecia. "I don't want to hurt you. I just want the both of us to be happy." Again. "And, I think..." One more, and coherent thought is starting to flee from me. "...this way, we both could be."  
  
"Tifa..."  
  
But I don't know if it's a protest, or an agreement, or simply my name on a wave of something purely physical. Because then he kisses me. And I forget everything else. I forget the tears on my cheeks; I forget that there are probably rational reasons why we shouldn't be; I forget that I might be taking advantage. I've wanted him for so long it feels like forever, and his skin feels so good under my fingers. Too many buttons for my faltering grip, and it's hard to believe I'm not dreaming, that it might really be Vincent's shaking hand trying to untuck my shirt.  
  
Oh...oh yes. Don't let me wake up. There it is, on your face, Vincent. You can't hide it. You want me, too.  
  
We...we're never going to make it to the bedroom.  
  
***  
  
The kettle has finally boiled dry.  
  
This changes everything. And I don't know what he's thinking. Or what he might start thinking when he's awake enough to think. Drowsing with me on the floor, on his back, and I'm lying on his right arm with my head on his shoulder, absorbing the clean, musky smell of him -- shampoo and soap and his own skin. And I don't want to wake him up in case he tries to leave.  
  
But I have a bed, Vincent. We could sleep there. Let's help each other up and stumble under the blankets, curl up together for the warmth of another human body and know deep inside ourselves that we'll never be able to live again without this.  
  
"Vincent?" It feels so good to nuzzle my nose against the underside of his jaw, against his neck, because it fits so well. "Vincent?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"There's a bed. In the other room."  
  
"Hm." He takes a breath, and I feel his chest rise and fall, his ribs pressing into the soft part of my arm. "Sorry. Next time."  
  
And I can't help but chuckle a little into the crook of his shoulder. That's not what I meant. It's not what I meant. I don't care where we are. I just meant for sleeping in. That's all.  
  
Next time... Oh, Vincent. Are you aware enough to know what you've implied?  
  
Maybe next time, tomorrow, and it'll be your apartment. Finished supper and cards and Lily will ask if you're going to walk me home. And I'll stand and walk to your chair and kiss you. Kiss you like I don't have any doubts. Kiss you to rewrite all of the rules. Kiss you until you melt against my mouth, until you're willing to be brave, until we both know it's a promise to work on it and not hurt each other. And tell her...  
  
I'll tell her...  
  
'I think...'  
  
I don't care where we are. It doesn't always have to be comfortable. You just have to be there. And as long as you can do that, I'll be there, too. I'll never be Lucrecia...  
  
'...I'll just...'  
  
....and you'll never be Cloud.  
  
'...stay here...'  
  
Good-night, Vincent.  
  
'...tonight.'  
  
***  
  
The end. As together as I can get them without going through every obstacle and argument they are undoubtedly going to have. I feel sorry for people who *do* have complicated relationships. This part was frustrating to write. But worth it. *grin*  
  
Thanks so much for reviews, for this little fic and my last one! Now, it's finished. And I hope to keep reviewing other people's fics. Don't know when or if I might write something else. But thanks, all the same, for all of the encouragement! I feel like my writing has gained something from the Fanfiction.net experience.  
  
See ya!  
  
---thelittletree 


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